


[We're] More than Alive

by maireeps



Series: More Than Alive [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Fingering, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Keith/Lance (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Post-Apocalypse, Post-Zombie Apocalypse, Slow Burn, They're practically Canon but Can't Be
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:26:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22868590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maireeps/pseuds/maireeps
Summary: Canon compliant smut scenes for More than Alive --I. Lance getting off to Keith and the bruises on his hips (post-chap 11)II. Keith getting off to Lance (post-chap 15)
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Series: More Than Alive [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/844296
Comments: 8
Kudos: 222





	1. close ain't close enough 'til we cross the line

**Author's Note:**

  * For [somethingmorecreative](https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingmorecreative/gifts).



> welcome to the MTA sin cave  
> we decided to keep the smut/sex separate! this follows chapter 11 of More than Alive - its a canon companion so we recommend reading mta of course!
> 
> short & sweet! enjoy~

It’s entirely Keith’s fault that his morning turned out this way. His leg is better, his body is more limber, he should be out and about and working. But then Keith decided to ruin everything, with his arms, that hungry look in his eye, how easily he flipped them so Lance was under him, hips taunt in his grip. It was better than Keith was oblivious about how the touches on his hips made him feel, but he wasn't oblivious now - he couldn’t be. Keith had eaten up the sight of him in the bathroom, shirtless and bruised by  _ his  _ hands, and they both knew immediately. It nailed home when Keith asked him, low and irresistible, and teasing at first but then not at all when Lance confirmed it if he liked to be held down. 

He was too loud for this, and it was their bed. But it made it so much better to smell Keith on the pillow, lingering musk and smoke, as Lance rolled a fist over himself frantically, desperately, toes curling against the sheets and body wiggling to press his face against the bed. He was already wildly overstimulated - forgive a guy for not finding time to keep up stamina in the literal apocalypse - and his voice was broken from his chanting stiletto of moans, mouth not quite working around the syllables of Keith’s name but absolutely calling it. 

It was a whole new desperation when getting close wasn't enough. His dick throbbed in between his fingers, wet with precum and slick to the point of embarrassment, and he couldn't get enough. The dark of Keith's gaze flashed every time he closed his eyes, long black hair grazing his naked body, thinking about how those full lips would press against him,  _ definitely  _ biting, and not at all gentle… 

He scrambled, knees against the mattress for purchase and using his own wet tip to lube his fingers - trying not to literally cry out against the press of his own fingers against him. Keith’s would be thicker, rougher, not as moisturized, but he’d be fast and deep and unrelenting and - 

His toes curled hard and he all but slammed his head down to Keith’s pillow, gnawing at his bottom lip to keep from shouting as his fingers found that one spot. His body hummed in pleasure, coming off in rolls up and down his spine, pricking his eyes with tears and dropping his jaw. Oversensitive, literally about to come from just that, on the bed he shared with the stupid boy he was thinking about. This was a low, a bittersweet and frustratingly sexy low - fuck Keith.  _ Fuck  _ Keith. 

God, he wanted to. He wished the door would open, he wished Keith’s jacket and katana and stupid knives would drop to the ground, wished the literal death mission Keith had gone on was dropped, wished they were on the same page and Keith’s hands would slide all over him, voice telling Lance how happy he was to see him like this - but also how filthy it was. He strangled out a cry, voice hoarse, eyes shut tight and hips stuttering as he stroked that same spot - His face was on fire. His body was on fire. 

Keith was hovering over him, hands on his hips, pressing bruises and not even  _ touching  _ him when he came - spots in his eyes and nearly wordless, gasping and body taunt. An image of Keith’s hands seared in his brain as collapses on his side, hands ripped away from himself and sticky. 

The afterglow was enough for a second to wash away the guilt, body radiating in happiness. But then he saw the cum on their sheets and it immediately came crashing back. Groaning, he turned into his side of the bed, already dreading trying to explain why he decided to do laundry so randomly. 


	2. just let me whisper things you've never heard before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this follows chapter 15 ~ or is apart of chapter 15! :') hope you guys like it ~ this is maire writing keith this time -- i tried my hardest to keep it in line with rachel's keith <3 
> 
> any kind of support for this would really mean a lot! (: i hope everyone is safe and well.

Keith chalked it up to the absence of tension. Lotor was gone, the compound was relaxing, settling into routine. That’s where his walls fluttered down, where he found it somehow acceptable and worth the risk to give in against the walls of the shower, forearms holding himself up and as lightly as he could, gliding a hand over himself. The last thing he needed to remind himself, well in order to keep going, was that he was doing this to himself - and hell, he wasn’t completely an unimaginative guy but just pulling scenarios out of a wealth of knowledge wasn’t an  _ option  _ for him. Unluckily, Lance rectified that nearly daily. The sounds he made every day when he woke up, heavy with sleep and contentment, pushed against Keith’s shirt so his breath came out in puffs against the thin fabric - the swell of his ass when he trained, dropping into some crouch or lining up for a shot - the stretch of his lips against  _ literally  _ anything - 

Lance gave him an imagination. 

Miles of gorgeous, soft skin, across his cheekbones, so high and cut spectacularly that his younger self would have probably audibly sighed over them, and disappearing under slim-fit clothing like the apocalypse was a fashion show and fuck did he wear those bruises on his hips well. Keith flexed his hands, clenching and unclenching, teasing himself and letting his stiff member bob against the lower cut belt of his abdomen. The shower ran beads of hot water down his skin, military-grade water pressure, but the temperature couldn’t compare to how his skin danced, like he was going to crawl out of his skin at any moment - thinking about Lance’s slim hips slotted in his palms, bare, naked, rolling. 

He felt like a traitor was clawing all these images up to the surface, musical highs and lows of Lance against him, whispering sweet somethings and then yelling, fiercely and burning nearly as much as him. He placed his forearm across the tile, dropped his head down to the cradle of his elbow and rolled his free hand over himself again - the blue of Lance’s eyes dancing in the corners of his mind until he was biting back groans and squeezing himself dizzy. He had almost lost all of that, could even still feel the weight of Lance’s body against his, and god, if he could have that again, that sweet weight. 

His hair was soaked, flat against his body, and the shower was definitely running colder now. Pinpricks of water flew off of his hand as he fisted over himself, rolling smoother and slicker like Lance would, if those slim fingers were around his cock, the other would be dragging his own bangs back so Keith wouldn’t accidentally shoot into his hair. 

And he huffed a stupid laugh because Lance  _ would _ . He would be whiny, prissy, “ _ Don’t dirty my clothes or hair”  _ but absolutely would be opening that pretty fucking mouth, tongue out, just to swallow his mess. Those delicate wispy lashes, like lines of caramel, would land against the rosiness of his cheeks and he would sit, expectant, turned on, until Keith would finish for him. 

His hand rolled faster, and his breath was short, gasping, all his weight against the tile. Keith  _ loved  _ that. Lance on his knees, bruises on his hips, Keith’s cum on his tongue, blissed out like he wasn’t just complaining seconds ago about the vague and unrealistic possibility of Keith  _ missing  _ finishing on his tongue. As if those lips haven’t been in his head for ages, as if he didn’t spend hours thinking on shutting Lance up, making him work around a cock in his mouth, and sometimes, he felt  _ bad  _ about it, thinking about roughing up Lance, but fuck would it look so good. And fuck would Lance love it. 

He was desperate now, gripping himself tight at the base and breathing hard against the tile until it fogged. The shower was blistering on his back, his chest heaving until finally, he spilled over himself, dripping down to the tile, Lance’s lips dancing in his head. 

Keith braced both forearms against the tile again, ears burning from the image, from the act. His limbs ached beautifully, from orgasm and from holding himself up. Fuck. He shoved off the wall and ducked back into the shower, firmly washing himself one more time. He kept his eyes open because every time he closed them, long stripes of tan skin and wet lips came flashing back. 

**Author's Note:**

> active on twitter:[maireep_](https://twitter.com/maireep_)  
> or tumblr:[maireep](https://maireep.tumblr.com/)


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